Betrayed
by GrievousHasABadCough
Summary: The war is over. The Autobots lost. Betrayed by one they loved and trusted. None of them saw this coming until it was too late. One-shot. Somewhat AU. Made by a friend. COMPLETE


Bumblebee knelt in a growing puddle of his own energon. The laser wound to his shoulder strut slowly leaking down his servo. The war was over, they had lost. The Autobots had been defeated. Prime lay dead on the battlefield, mere feet away from the ragged, wounded survivors, who were awaiting their fate.

The surviving Autobots were being "assessed." Those deemed to present the least resistance or threat would be fitted with electro collars and given to whichever Decepticon Megatron chose. Those who failed the assessment; well Ironhide's smoldering gray remains told of the fate that awaited them.

How had it come to this? Bumblebee knew, all the Autobots knew, but most still couldn't accept it. Betrayed. They had been betrayed by one they trusted, loved, and admired. How could one of their most trusted do this?

Somehow Bumblebee couldn't bring himself to call his one time friend a traitor. Traitor seemed too sterile, too removed from this raw visceral pain. A traitor was someone who acted against their government, not those one lived, ate, laughed, and mourned with. No, this was a betrayal that ran spark deep. Bumblebee squeezed his optics closed against the pain and grief threatening to overwhelm him.

"How could you?" The Scout looked up. The strangled question came from Sideswipe. The frontliner's vocals were raw with pain. "We trusted you. We trusted you." Sideswipe kept shaking his head as he stared at the mech to Megatron's right. "We trusted you."

" Kill him." The former Autobot said to his new lord and master.

Megatron didn't hesitate, he leveled his fusion cannon and blasted two successive shots through Sideswipe's spark. The red frontliner writhed as he fell back, his frame graying as it hit the ground in a spray of energon and shattered metal.

"I WILL KILL YOU!" Sunstreaker screamed, lunging to his pedes at their former friend. Megatron stepped in front of his new general, fusion cannon ready to claim another spark when Suntreaker staggered to his knees convulsing. "Sides," he whispered and collapsed face first, his frame graying as his twin's had.

"It's true, the death of one split spark takes the life of the other." Bumblebee glared at Starscream. Leave it to the Decepticon Second to find scientific fascination in death.

Megatron didn't even wait for Prowl's assessment, he leveled his fusion cannon at the stoic tactician when Soundwave approached.

"My Liege, Soundwave requests Prowl. Soundwave relishes breaking the Autobot Second."

Horrified Bumbleee looked at the mech to his immediate right. To his credit, Prowl didn't so much as twitch at the telepath's request. Megatron paused, deliberating Prowl's fate.

"Very well, Soundwave, break him."

Megatron now stood before Bumblebee. The Scout looked past the warlord to his one-time trusted friend. He wanted to ask why, he wanted ask how, but didn't. What difference did it make? It wouldn't bring Prime, Ironhide, or the Twins back. Besides, no reason would ever justify this betrayal, this pain.

"Do not let his age, or guileless expression deceive you, my Liege. Bumblebee is a cold sparked killer. He is the culmination of the talents of Jazz and Optimus' personal assassin, Mirage. Those two molded the perfect killing machine. After all, who would ever think sweet little Bee was more deadly than his mentors. Far more Decepticons had their spark sliced from their chestplates in recharge at Bumblebee's servos than any other Special Ops agent."

Bumblebee felt his chestplates explode in burning pain as he fell back, Prowl's scream fading into static as his spark stopped.

"I will kill, no matter how long it takes, no matter what Soundwave does to me. If it takes my last dying gasp I will personally rip your spark out!" Prowl screamed.

Megatron wheeled, fusion cannon primed to claim the spark of the much hated Autobot Second In Command, but a servo on his arm stopped him.

Ratchet leaned down to Prowl, his optics as cold and ruthless as the tactician's. "Try it."


End file.
